A Strange Mirror

The line trembled. An invisible tension ran along the rope, vibrating under a muffled force buried in the depths.

Hands clenched around the grip, the silhouette remained motionless, muscles tense, holding its breath. Something was pulling it toward the abyss. A weight, heavy, elusive, was slowly rising from the darkness. The water beneath the ice seemed to stir, as if it were breathing, as if something down there had finally decided to respond.

He had waited all day. Hidden under a thin layer of snow and intertwined branches, his body numb from the cold, he had not dared to make the slightest movement. This fish was no ordinary catch. It was cunning, devious, almost too intelligent. More than once, it had brushed against the bait without ever biting, disappearing into the liquid shadow of the lake. But this time… it had taken the hook.

A sudden jolt. A violent shock nearly wrenched the grip from his hands. The line groaned, threatening to snap. The child planted his feet firmly in the hardened snow, feeling the beast's raw strength struggle in the abyss. He knew this was his only chance. With a steady motion, he gave a sharp tug.

A silver flash burst from the hole in a spray of icy water and landed on the ice with a dull thud. The fish was gigantic, its scales gleaming under the twilight glow, its gaping mouth opening and closing with a raspy breath. It thrashed violently, whipping the air with brute force, its black eyes flashing with an intensity almost too sharp for a mere animal.

Without hesitation, the young man lunged at it.

His hands trembled from the cold but remained precise. He drew a sharp knife from his belt and, with an expert motion, plunged the blade into the base of the fish's skull, right between the eyes, severing the spinal cord in a clean cut. It was Ikejime, a technique he had learned from one of the village elders. A swift and effective method to end life without suffering, instantly stopping all muscular movement. He felt the fish's body shudder one last time… then everything went still.

Silence fell over the frozen lake.

The adolescent, out of breath, felt adrenaline coursing through his veins. He had done it.

Under the fading twilight, he slowly straightened, his gaze fixed on his catch. The fish was massive, larger than anything he had ever caught before. His aching arms bore witness to the effort he had just exerted, but he could not linger any longer. The icy air bit into his skin, and night was approaching.

With a sure gesture, he tied a rope around the fish's mouth and began to drag it through the snow. The animal left a long dark trail behind it on the ice, its weight making each step more difficult. But Yahiko, thirteen years old, did not falter. His body, sculpted by harsh daily labor, was accustomed to exertion. Beneath his thick woolen coat, his frame seemed unremarkable, yet it concealed a finely honed, well-defined musculature, forged by relentless winters and arduous work. His broad shoulders carried the burden with an ease that betrayed a strength uncommon for his age.

The weight of the fish did not slow his pace, but he could feel fatigue gradually setting in. Yet, he did not stop. As he advanced, the landscape around him was tinged with the last hues of the day.

Twilight slowly descended upon the snow-covered fjords, painting the sky in shades of purple and gold. The steep mountains, dotted with dark pine forests, framed a village nestled in the heart of a frozen valley. The biting wind carried the salty scent of the icy water and the woody fragrance of the evergreens. Snowflakes, light as feathers, drifted through the air, piling up on the slanted wooden rooftops of houses, their windows illuminated by the flickering glow of candles.

In this wintery stillness, his silhouette moved cautiously along a path bordering the frozen fjords. His light brown hair, short but often tousled by the wind, let a stray lock fall onto his pale forehead, framing eyes of deep brown, filled with an unusual intensity. Always in motion, those eyes seemed to take in every detail around him, as if searching for something he could never find. He loved this frozen solitude, yet a part of him felt an emptiness—like a silent abyss deep within his chest.

Yahiko moved forward with steady assurance. His steps were measured, his breath short but controlled. The fish dragged behind him in the snow, its body glistening under the evening light, each jolt of the rope reminding him of the harshness of this land, where only the strong survived.

The journey back was long, each step weighing heavier on his tired muscles. Yet, he did not slow down. The familiar scent of burning wood drifted through the air, a sign that he was finally approaching the village. Through the silhouettes of the houses, lazy curls of smoke rose into the darkening sky, contrasting with the cold hues of winter.

After one last bend in the snowy path, he finally spotted the house. Modest but welcoming, it stood sheltered from the wind, its dark wooden walls marked by countless winters. The traces of time had taken nothing away from the warmth emanating from it.

A cleared path led to the door, and in front of it, a small figure bounced on the spot, trying to keep warm. Fumi, bundled up in a coat far too big for her, suddenly lifted her eyes and spotted her brother.

— "Yahiko! You're back!" she exclaimed, running toward him, her boots slipping on the snow.

The adolescent smiled instinctively. Seeing her so full of energy sparked a warmth in him that he cherished above all else. He set down the rope that secured the fish, then leaned forward to scoop his sister into his arms, lifting her off the ground with ease.

— "You're going to end up falling in that coat that's too big for you," he said softly, a teasing smile on his lips.

Fumi laughed, her clear voice ringing like a bell in the cold air.

— "Mom made stew! She was waiting for you to add the fish for tonight's meal!"

She suddenly stopped, her pupils widening as she took in the massive catch Yahiko was dragging behind him. For a moment, she stood frozen, her mouth slightly open, before lifting her gaze to her brother, torn between awe and disbelief.

— "It's... huge! How did you even catch this?!"

Yahiko simply smiled before replying with quiet confidence.

— "Soon, I'll teach you how to catch fish like this."

She circled around the fish, observing it from every angle before lifting her sparkling gaze toward her brother.

As he stepped inside the house, Yahiko was immediately enveloped by the comforting scent of stew, mingled with the faint aroma of burning wood. Their mother, Haruka, stood near the hearth, stirring a pot with slow yet precise movements. Her long black hair, tied into a simple braid, was faintly illuminated by the fire's glow. She lifted her eyes toward her son and offered him a tired but sincere smile.

— "Thank you, Yahiko," she said in a gentle voice. "You do so much for us, you know?"

Yahiko nodded without responding. Though affectionate, these words weighed on him. He felt the burden of responsibility placed upon his shoulders—a weight he carried without complaint, yet one that sometimes left him feeling bitter. He wished someone else had been there to share this role, a protective figure he had never known. A father.

After dinner, once Fumi had gone to her room for the night and their mother quietly tidied the kitchen, Yahiko stepped outside for a moment. The snow crunched beneath his feet as he lifted his gaze to a sky scattered with stars. A glacial breeze bit at his cheeks, but he paid it no mind. Closing his eyes, he let his thoughts drift toward the memory he kept buried deep within him.

Yahiko still remembered that day, seven years ago, when his sister had nearly disappeared. That moment haunted his nights, tangled with questions he had never been able to answer.

One afternoon, he had wandered a little too far from the village. But Fumi, still so small, had slipped from his watchful eye, running too close to the frozen stream that wound through the valley. He could still see her childish smile, her tiny feet skidding over the snow-covered stones… and then the stifled cry as she tumbled into the rushing waters. Everything had happened so fast. He recalled the panic seizing his chest like a crushing weight, the gaping void he felt as he watched the currents carry her away.

What happened next remained blurry, almost unreal.

For an instant, everything had plunged into total darkness, as if his mind had disconnected from his body. Then, a raw, untamed force had awakened within him, burning through everything in its path. He had not understood his own movements, nor the energy that had surged out of him—as if another part of himself had risen to answer the threat.

When he had opened his eyes again, they were lying on the riverbank, Fumi curled against him, shivering. She was breathing heavily. He had wasted no time—he had scooped her into his arms and rushed back toward the village.

They had never spoken of that painful event again, neither with his sister nor their mother—perhaps out of modesty… But he had never forgotten.

That memory, riddled with shadowy gaps, remained unexplained. Had it been a dream? An illusion born from despair? Yet, each time he thought back to it, he could feel that same energy, buried deep within him, like a distant echo.

He shook his head slightly, his thoughts scattered by the icy wind. In silence, he stepped back inside for the night, leaving behind a sky glistening with stars.

The next morning, after finishing his chores, he discreetly slipped away into the forest. This solitude had become his refuge—a place where he could try to tame the strange force he still struggled to understand.

After a few minutes sitting on a frozen rock, a bird landed nearby on a bare branch, free of snow. Slowly, Yahiko observed it, holding his breath so as not to startle it. He studied it intently, striving to capture every detail: its slender frame, the delicate texture of its feathers, the subtle gradient of its plumage, the curve of its long, thin beak, down to the sharp little talons gripping the bark. Then, he closed his eyes and focused on visualizing it perfectly, down to the finest detail.

A strange pulse stirred within him—fluid, natural—like an underground river coursing through his veins. He felt a faint ripple in the air and slowly reopened his eyes. There, perched on his shoulder, was a perfect replica of the bird.

Then, it moved.

With a delicate flutter of its wings, the creature turned toward him and locked eyes with his own.

Yahiko smiled, but his heart remained heavy. Each time he saw these creations, he wondered if they were truly alive or merely an echo of his solitude.

The flawless copy suddenly vanished, dissolving like a whisper into the frozen air. He let out a soft sigh.

— "A reflection…" he murmured, staring at his hands, trembling from the effort. "Nothing more… at least, that's what he wanted to believe."